


Lore

by SmutWithPlot



Series: Lore [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Depression, Ensemble Cast, Hanzo is not fond of omnics, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, McCree has a grudge about Hanzo trying to kill Genji though, Post-Recall, Suicidal Hanzo, there will be Smut in your Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23627452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmutWithPlot/pseuds/SmutWithPlot
Summary: Another McHanzo from that SmutWithPlot guy. This is not your typical fluffy romance, there will be angst and tension and dragging this out. Buckle up, kiddos.One man seeks redemption, the other justice. There's no good reason why the gunslinger and archer should find themselves wandering back towards each other -- especially when loyalties and history would make enemies of them -- and yet, they do. Some souls just fit and understand each other in a way that their mortal shells can't hope to comprehend.
Relationships: Jesse McCree & Hanzo Shimada, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada
Series: Lore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700695
Comments: 3
Kudos: 35





	1. Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! As always, if you like what I do, you can find my ass on Patreon @LoonyMoonyProductions, where I post art and things, and also note when I upload new chapters of my stuff, so do give it a follow. Attempting to follow canon as well as you can for a game that still makes new toons every 6 months...

_You don't know how dangerous you are, my sweet, sweet soul with dark, dark eyes... Head to heel, beautifully marred. My sweet, sweet soul. Forgive my surprise. I'd tell you the truth, but it's hard, my sweet, sweet soul. You don't comprehend... I know you see right through me, but please don't look away. I'll comfort you if you'll cling to me. We'll cry and we'll wait for the day. Oh, I wish you could see what I see, my sweet, sweet soul... With dark, dark eyes_. ~"Dark, Dark Eyes" by Marian Call

xx

I do not know why I let my brother talk me into this.

It had been a whirlwind, the last two years. Trying to find work as an assassin was easy enough to do, but it seemed like everyone wanted you to have loyalties. I already had my loyalties carved into my skin, and I had betrayed them. Why anyone else wanted me to take those vows again was beyond me.

And after that night in the Castle... Things are different now. 

I'm tormented in new ways. It was not enough to need to find an adversary worthy of defeating me (although that cowboy might give me a good run for my money, if I wasn't too cowardly to seek him out again), because now I had a ghost chasing my footsteps. Fleeting glances of metal would catch my eye, and omnics everywhere could have been hiding my brother's face. Sometimes I would be walking a rain-soaked street in Singapore and swear I saw a flash of green light over my shoulder. An early morning in Hong Kong and there would be a silhouette on a roof. Half of the time I was chasing shadows. The other half of the time, he would be there, and mock me with thoughts of redemption again.

"I forgive you, Hanzo," he would say, every time. "You must learn to forgive yourself."

Most of the time we fought. I wasn't sure that he was sincere, perhaps he was some intense manifestation of my guilt, some oni that had decided to torment me with my own failures. I thought that perhaps I had finally gone mad, the last decade of wandering finally destroying my sanity until I was seeing the ghost of my little brother, whispering promises I knew that I could never have.

But still, he would persist. He did not let me rest. Even when it was not him.

"Anija--"

I curse, almost running into him as he steps out of an alleyway. This time we were in Austria. Why the demon insisted on tracking me all over the globe, I could not understand. I was taking new jobs in far-flung places in an attempt to outrun him, and still he persisted.

"Leave me be, demon," I growled, shoving past him, continuing down the street. I had not caught my prey today. I had spent the better part of the day waiting for my shot, and he had eluded me. I was starving, I was tired, and I had no patience for this delusion.

"I forgive you, Hanzo," he called after me, and I rolled my eyes, almost mouthing along the next words: "You must learn to forgive yourself."

"I must do no such thing," I snapped, turning back to him. His armor gleamed like rose gold in the setting sun. "Stop following me, ghost."

"I am not a ghost, Hanzo," he sighed.

"That is what a ghost would say," I muttered. He picked up pace and walked alongside me.

"But it is true." I could even hear his usual amusement, ever finding something entertaining in my misery.

I picked up my pace. He chuckled and matched it with ease.

"I have no _time_ for your games, spirit," I growled. "Leave me in peace."

"You know, for such an old man, you are as petulant as a child."

I snarled and swung out at him, but he ducks me easily. I strike again, and again, a fourth going for an honest blow, and he parries it without trouble.

The face I see catches me off guard. The face also is surprised, bloodshot eyes going wide. A mouth parts in surprise, the ragged beard that must be mine staring back at me.

...Is that me?

The head tilts to one side, and the reflection also shifts ever so slightly.

"Hanzo?" he asks, concern tainting his voice.

I pull back, spooked. I turn again, hurrying away, but still, he follows.

"Anija, please, I grow tired of chasing you."

"Then cease."

"Hanzo, you are _wasting_ yourself--"

"What is it to you?!" I turn on him, my nerves and empty belly and restless spirit and aching eyes have me at my wit's end, and I cannot take this anymore. "You are a ghost! You are a torment! What do you care how I abuse myself? Do you wish to do so yourself? Use your blade and not your words, it would be faster!"

There is no expression in that blank face. That metal face. I know it is a mask, but the scarred visage behind it...

That is not my brother. It cannot be. I have finally gone mad. My deepest regret has come to haunt me in physical form. This is my penance. I will have to endure him until the end of my days.

The ghost eases, sheathing his sword, and then crossing his arms. "Hanzo. When did you last sleep?"

I want to be defiant, scowling, but my brow furrows as I try to consider it. "I am not sure," I answer honestly.

"And eat?" The exasperation is too familiar.

"What is it to you?" I ask him again. I turn away, but my voice does not hold anger so much as weariness, and I continue to trudge away.

The ghost persists. "Hanzo, I understand what you are going through." I roll my eyes, cursing under my breath as I march on. "I do. I, too, have the blood of brothers dear to me on my hands."

"I doubt it."

"Hanzo, it was me that sold out the Shimadas to Overwatch."

That makes me stop in my tracks. The ghost stops, too. As if worried that the revelation would bring about new wrath, and he is not quite bold enough to face me yet.

It's an absurd notion. I have to take several heartbeats to really let the words sink in, and even then, they do not make sense.

...Even in my madness, I have the thought that this is such an absurd notion, that there's no way I could have come up with it on my own.

I turn on my heel, looking to him. I imagine I looked incredulous, or maybe even terrified. "What did you say?"

The ghost does not have a face, but it has a body, and the shoulders shirk in a familiar way. "It was I. I'm the one who helped Overwatch take down the Clan."

I blink, trying to register the information. I think of the many nights he disappeared without warning, not answering phone calls, then replying later from exotic locales with friends. Since we were young men of wealth, I didn't think it too odd. Disrespectful and wasteful, yes. But not out of the ordinary.

Was he... Selling us out?

"You dare to sully my brother's honor with such an accusation?" My voice is flat. There isn't even the cold threat of violence that I could master without thinking as a young oyabun. It doesn't quake, either. It is... Stunned.

There's no way my mind would ever have come up with such a thing on its own. My concept of my brother was that of a layabout, a goofball, a party boy who spent all his money on parties and drinking and video games. He was not...

"It's true, Hanzo," he insists, standing a little straighter. "I never told you. But did you not think it odd that they were one step ahead of us?"

"There was a spy. A rat. We needed only to snuff him out..."

We never did.

I took a step back, the logic of what he was saying spilling out before me, despite how badly I did not want to believe him. "...Which we never found."

"Because you did not snuff him out." He stepped closer, his tone of voice careful, even at it is tinged with that awful metallic echo, as if speaking through... Well. I suppose he is. "You cut him down, yes. But a bird with a broken wing can still sing, brother."

I feel my face begin to crumple. It does not succeed, my training is too great for that, but even this is a sign of how deeply I am wounded. "Do not speak of birds," I whisper, and to my own ears, it sounds like a beg.

The ghost steps closer, and a hand touches me. I look to it like it is the foulest filth, and then at this mask, this faceless face. "Hanzo. It was I. When you cut me down, they retrieved me. Put me in this suit, patched me up as best they could. I became one of them. A silver ninja. Was even part of their black ops division. Doing all of the things we had been trained to do."

I tore away, not liking the lies this demon spoke, and I moved away again, but my eyes could not leave him. Not this time. "How dare you sully his honor in this way," I whisper, horror evident in my own voice.

"It is the truth, Hanzo." Genji never spoke with such sincerity, but very rarely. Like when he'd tried to convince me to pursue other things, away from the family. As if the Clan would swallow me whole and he wanted me away from it, but I could not. I was caught in the whirlpool, drowning, unable to swim to freedom.

I was not a bird. I did not have the wings.

I felt my body shrink under the weight of his words. "Why do you torment me?" I asked again, blinking furiously.

"You torment yourself, Hanzo," he answered, with a solemnity that did not belong to my beloved Sparrow. "I have found peace. I want that for you as well." His head shakes. "You do not need to be this way. Come with me. I can teach you. Give you a better purpose. You do not have to live like this."

"I do not want to live at all." I hear the words, but I cannot believe I have said them aloud. "Why didn't you just kill me in Hanamura?" This time, my voice breaks, a croak of anguish and heartbreak.

"Because you are my brother, Hanzo," he answers just as calmly, the other hand taking to my shoulder. "I know you better than you know yourself. For all that you try to be what they wanted you to be, you are better than this. You are a _good man_." His hands squeeze, and it is pain, but nothing compared to what he is saying. "I have hope for you. I know that you punish yourself, that you regret what you have done."

"I murdered my brother," I sob. "I was supposed to protect him and I..."

"Yes," he says softly, that hum distorting the sound. "I know. And you failed. But I failed you as well. I let you suffer all these years and I said nothing, because of my own anger and spite. But I have learned better. And I want that same peace for you, Hanzo."

...I did not understand. This demon torments me, speaking these promises...

At this point, what did I have left to lose? He would not let me die.

"What do you want from me?" I whispered, my voice thick with tears I couldn't quite drop from my eyes.

"I want you to come with me," he answered, a gentle smile to his voice that I could hear, even if I could not see it. "I will take you there. We will put your skills to work for the betterment of mankind. Be the man I know you can be. And maybe then, you will find peace."

I sniffed. "Take me... Where?"

"Well, first, to the nearest ramen shop. Then a shower. But after..." And he leaned in, touching his head to mine in a familiar gesture that did not feel the same with cool metal on my skin, even as my eyes searched the green visor, wanting to believe he was in there, painful as it was. "We will go to Gibraltar. They are waiting for us."

"Who?" I asked, unable to help myself.

"Heroes," he answered. I could hear his broad smile.


	2. Arrangements

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> McCree is in full-on agent mode, rather quickly. And there are things that need to be arranged.

_I wish I was a slave to an age-old trade, like ridin' around on railcars and workin' long days. Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways. Call it one drink too many, call it pride of a man. Where it don't make no difference if you sit or you stand. 'Cos they both end in trouble... We do it over and over and over again... I know there's California, Oklahoma, and all of the places I ain't never been to, but down in the valley with whiskey rivers, these are the places you will find me hidin'. These are the places I will always go. I am on my way back to where I started..._ ~"Down In the Valley" by The Head and the Heart

xx

There was a lot to do, and not a whole hell of a lot of help to do it.

It took me almost three days to tear down my safehouse in Tennessee -- I will always think of them that way, I suppose -- and pack my kit to head West. I liquidated what I could into cash, and siphoned the rest of it into safe places, including my funnel to those who depended on me. I even paid for a maid to tidy up the cabin before I left and gifted her the meat I'd left over. The train south naturally didn't exactly welcome people like me, but I'd learned how to catch myself a ride anyhow. I knew it would suck, riding a giant metal bullet across the desert, no matter how fast. But I packed as much water as I could carry and tucked in.

Hot as hell as it is, home is so damned gorgeous. Wile E. Coyote mountains and scrublands, saguaros and mesquite. It always makes my heart swell.

When I hit Austin, I dropped my ass into another safehouse, pulling out the boot drive I keep on my person and load up the system. I tag in with Winston -- something I never made a habit of, and certainly haven't done in years now, but if we're going to do this thing, I'm going to put in my RSVP for the party. Dangerous as it is. There was a Watchpoint in Los Angeles, but that got shut down a while ago. They all got shut down. But there's something there that I think they're gonna need...

I send an e-mail out to Sombs, asking her for a favor. One I'm more than happy to pay for. It takes me three days of digging, but I finally find a Blackwatch database that's still live and also has Liao's records. I know that after she went, they locked her lab down pretty good, but if we're going off the rails now, I think it's only fair to give ourselves every advantage.

...Ourselves. Shit. I'm thinking in multiple first already?

The thought catches me off guard. I told myself I was done with this stuff. Overwatch was full of oblivious goody-two-shoes and bureaucratic nonsense, and for a long time, Blackwatch had been my bag. Sure, you play nice and go on some official missions enough to stay on the Blue payroll, but Black was where you really got the money. Dirty work, but someone had to do it, and we were the ones stopping wars. Until something snapped in Reyes. I still can't figure out what it was. Something in him stopped being the man I wanted him to be. Thought he was. Maybe he finally cracked. One kill too many, or something else he never told us about. Maybe it was Gerard... It's hard to say.

Then again. We'd never been hit on our home turf like that before. Overwatch had been hit, sure. But it was high profile. If someone was attacking Black facilities, it meant that someone in the system was working against us. But I got out of there long before we could figure out what was actually going on. It was too damned much for me. I wanted no part of it, much as it killed me to leave the only home I'd ever really had. Maybe that's why I'm such an eager beaver to get back on a team, to not be the ranking officer for a change, to have even a taste of the good old days...

Even Blue. Maybe it was better we didn't have a Black. I would likely change my mind about that sooner or later, I knew. But for now, it was better we stayed transparent.

...But it was also better that maybe I didn't walk in so fast. Let some of the shinier, cleaner agents show up first. I knew that there were some unkind things said about me when things went sideways, and McCree had conveniently been nowhere to be found. Painted me in a real bad way, and since I wasn't there to defend myself, those rumors went unchecked. Not a whole hell of a lot you can do about turkeys clucking, but it did leave a sour taste in my mouth.

But I knew exactly what they needed for this, more than an old cowpoke with more stains on his soul than a rattler has scales. Echo had been decommissioned somewhere, if I could find out where they were hiding her, and I was the one who had her activation switch. A precautionary measure that I'd thought was ridiculous at the time, but right now it seemed almost like God had done that shit on purpose. Loathe as I was to consider he should choose _now_ to show his face in my life. She was a good soul. And yes, I do believe that omnics have souls. At some point, there's a ghost in the machine, and they're people, same as us. I'd seen them do kind things, and I'd seen them be just as cruel as humanity, and I personally believe it takes a certain amount of intelligence and self to be truly evil.

Animals kill because they're hungry. Omnics that only function by their protocol don't start terrorist cells.

Just thinking about it made my hand hurt. Not my real one, but the ghostly one that wasn't technically there anymore. I could look down at the metal glove, flex the fingers, but I always knew that it wasn't _mine_. Not really. I tried not to think about it, but it happened without my consent now and again. I promised my idiot brain that I'd put the metal thing on ice later if it would let me finish up.

I outlined the task I needed from my ghost, the warehouse grave where she could find my angel (ideally without asking too many questions), and where to send it. A postcard from a certain place inviting an old "friend" to the heist. And maybe, if I was lucky, I could get the package without having to kill anyone. It wasn't often I was lucky, but a man could dream.

And hell. It'd be good to see Ashe again. Bob, too. And home. I just hoped I could pull this off without a bullet in my head.


	3. Intel

_Do you have something you want to tell me? Any time left to warn me? Is there something I should know? Fields and footsteps and dusty roads, hiding out from the unknown, and darkness falls upon my shoulders. And no direction -- now I'm lost. Middle of nowhere... Am I ever gonna make it out alive? I woke up in a place I didn't know, running fast, so far from home. Cold and silent and all alone, oh, somethin' ain't right_. ~"Something Ain't Right" by Whiskey Neat

xx

I do not know what I was expecting from Overwatch, but this was not it.

The watchpoint was an outcropping of manmade structure set on an island in Gibraltar, of all places. Genji explained to me that there used to be watchpoints all over the globe, but when the 'Watches fell (he referred to them in the plural, which I presumed referred to each of the points), a lot of the buildings were decommissioned, and some of them even repurposed for private or corporate use. The ones that hadn't been destroyed by Talon, at least. Talon, he told me, was a terrorist organization of some kind that they had been looking into right before the 'Watches fell. Apparently, they had been an insidious shadow organization of some kind, and were still causing havoc in the world, and even more so, now that they could work unchecked. This was actually the inciting incident, it seemed -- Talon had been methodically hunting down Overwatch agents all over the globe, scattered to the winds as they were, and had even made an attempt at this very facility, but Winston -- who he introduced as a scientist, but was a _fucking gorilla_ from outer space, and no, I'm not kidding -- had managed to hold the line on his own, thwarting an attempt to get a full list of the agents and their present locations. At that point, Winston made an executive decision that enough was enough, and did a "recall" of anyone still alive and available, and were to come back to Gibraltar.

Apparently there were not a lot of people showing up yet. Genji had, along with a handful of folks, but they were presently going through a list of names to see who hadn't just vanished, potentially already fallen victim to Talon assassination, or were just unable to answer the call. They had started to recruit, even, and Genji had immediately thought of me, which was completely absurd, considering I was the furthest thing from a hero.

I think the omnic put him up to it. It was very disconcerting to see my little brother, who had always been a rebel his entire life, until it almost literally got him killed, bowing in respect and deference to someone else, and even calling him Master. That it was an omnic, of all things, was even more surreal, but it seemed to have given him some kind of "peace," as he called it, and I supposed it was good for him.

I think we had somehow switched personalities in the decade. Suddenly he was the one who was meditating and stoic, while I was the nervous wreck with no direction in my life. He arranged to have a temple brought to the watchpoint for me from Japan so I could pray ("I know how religion has always been a comfort to you, brother," he said, with a knowing smile to his voice that I was trying desperately to NOT interpret as condescending or pitying), and an electric kettle. The entire tower was far too large for the small amount of people there, so it was no trouble for me to have a room, though it was not next to Genji's, which was both a blessing and a curse. Everything had the cold, musty, dusty smell of a place that had been forsaken for years, and it felt familiar in unpleasant ways. It felt foreign, and unwelcoming, as much as the people around me. I took to staying there outside of meals, where my brother would collect me, escort me to the eating area, we would sit with the omnic monk, and then I would excuse myself once the noise and judging eyes became too much to bear, and I would slip back to my room.

It was an unpleasant pattern. Sometimes he would invite me to tea or to meditate, and I sometimes took him up on it just because I was sick of the four walls of my room, but I did not get much joy out of their robotic noises coloring every word they said. It was a constant reminder of what I'd done, and I hated to sit there, perpetually made to endure the consequences of my actions.

But over time, the few grew to more. Most of them did not treat me with anything more than stiff-lipped and polite niceties. There was a Dr. Ziegler, who reminded me quite a bit of a yuki-onna with her icy stare and cold presence. Genji explained that she was the one who had stitched his broken body back together and stuffed what remained of him into a suit of armor. The massive fighter with the loud, booming voice towered over her, and they chattered in German -- I knew enough to hear snippets of it, but not enough to truly follow the conversation. Winston seemed to be trying to be kind, but I got the idea he was as inept at social graces as I was. There was a bright and chirpy British woman as well, who chattered on and on about someone named Emily, trying to butter me up, but quite frankly she just gave me a headache with all of her zipping around, so I... I didn't entertain her much. There was an engineering type that arrived most recently, and he seemed to take me in with a bit of bafflement.

Absolutely everyone seemed to know that I was the one who had done this thing to my brother, and it colored their thin smiles and judging eyes. I hated it. At least this one -- his name was very difficult for me to pronounce, so he asked me to just call him Ti -- seemed to regard me with something like pity. And understanding. His was the first hand I shook that felt genuine. I made sure to bow low for him, and not just because he was so short.

They also had another beautiful omnic, a model I'd never seen before, with the most realistic face I'd ever seen. She could copy anyone, it seemed, and more than once she had entertained by taking on someone else's form, most of which were people I didn't recognize, to the delight of the others. She unnerved me, personally. She was doing this thing one night, and I had stepped away, feeling forever like I was the only person who did not have any idea what was going on. I was fetching myself another glass of water when I happened to catch a snippet of something that pulled at my ear.

"--McCree was supposed to be back by now. That boy is still just as much of a wild card as he always has been."

"Is there any intel on where he is?" It was the doctor, that booming man (whose voice was the one I had caught first, naturally), and this new little man, gossiping in the corner. I stood at the sink, listening, taking advantage of my incredible ears, and my quiet steps -- I don't think they realized I was even behind them.

"Ze last I heard, he was still in the States." The doctor rolled her eyes. "I would be very surprised if he really came back."

"But he's the one that activated Echo?" Ti asked.

"Sure. According to her, anyway. But she has no reason to lie." The giant man looked over at the robot, who was impersonating someone with a long blue jacket, blonde hair and a comically large chin and crooning some silly song to the delight of the others, including my brother, who had not noticed me slip away. "He came in, spent less than a week helping us clean up, and then vanished again. Said he was following some lead, and would come back with new recruits. Then two days ago we got contacted by Lucio -- you know, the pop star? -- who had apparently got a tip that we were recruiting. None of _us_ contacted him. So... I don't know. Maybe he is? But you know how he is. He _never_ reports in." Ti snorted, but it was a warm amusement. "He's always been a wild one. Gabriel was the only one who could reign that boy in. We don't even know for sure that he isn't involved with these new Talon types. It was very convenient that he seemed to leave Overwatch in the middle of the investigations, and was gone before it all went up in smoke."

"Now, Rein, that's not very fair. That boy has a good intuition. Doubtless, he knew things were going sideways, and he wanted no part of it."

"That's assuming cowardice," the Doctor muttered. "Which is better, a rat who was two-timing us, or one that jumped ship and abandoned his people?"

"I mean..." At that point, Ti looked over to the rest, where the robot had changed appearance to someone else, this one a tall and spooky-looking skeletal figure with a shock of fire for hair, that couldn't be a real person... "It's hard to say. We aren't exactly giving him the benefit of the doubt now, are we?"

That seemed to quiet them. And when the doctor looked up, her eyes found me, and widened. I finished my drink and slipped away before attention could be brought to me.

xx

It didn't take long before he came back, despite the German's doubts.

I heard about it, that he'd showed up in the middle of the night and the doctor had screamed when she found him in the kitchen sipping coffee "like nobody's business," as Genji recounted it with a chuckle. I tried to hide my anxiety, knowing damned well that the gunslinger was the same I'd bedded all of those years ago... It probably wasn't all that long ago in truth, but it felt like forever. Fortunately, Genji seemed to think it best that he didn't introduce me to that one too quickly. I remembered how he'd been when we'd first met, the cold fury in his eyes, and at the time, I'd taken it as flattery.

Now, it scared me. The man knew me now. He knew how I worked, the tricks up my sleeve, and I was on his turf. I had never told him my real name, and there was a chance he didn't know who I actually was, specifically. But if Genji introduced me... There would be no doubt.

But most of all, I was scared that I would see him and melt. No one had ever fucked me so good, and no one would again, I was sure of it. And my brother did not yet know of my proclivities towards men. If he decided to ruin me, he could do so easily. And I would be powerless to stop him.

The thought kept me up for two nights. I almost wanted him to.

Day three, Genji announced to me over breakfast tea that he was going to tell "Jesse" about me today. And that I should be ready for trouble because he was, as my brother put it, "loyal to a fault, and sometimes a little... trigger happy." He spoke of him as an old friend, protective, and would probably be even less friendly than even the others had been. I asked him why, but my brother did not exactly answer the question, except to say that it was "complicated."

Despite myself, I picked out my nicest yukata and braced myself. I was to be in the kitchen for lunch, and Genji would slip in that I was here, and somehow having an audience was supposed to dissuade the cowboy's rage. I heard him coming down the hall, and the moment his beautiful voice hit my ears, it was like electricity in my soul, and I set down my tea to listen, even if the words were not pleasant.

"The fucking _hell_ , Genji! Man damn near made kindlin' outta you, fer Chrissakes, and you invite him _here?"_

"He could be an asset--"

"He could be a liability, more like! He's _unhinged_. Who the hell kills their own flesh and blood? And that's comin' from me, he's _dangerous._ There ain't no Black no more, Genji. There's no Morrison to keep that shit in check, we don't need his kind here."

You'd think that hearing such things would upset me, but in truth, I took it as a comfort. His brutal honesty was a relief after all of the false smiles and insincere politeness. I thought fondly to his bluntness back at that tavern so many years ago, how blatantly he had put everything on the table, his rules on honesty...

I grew up in a world of polite masks and sweet threats. It went against everything Japan stood for, and I found it refreshing. Even if the jingling of spurs that accompanied each angry boot step did ruin the effect a touch.

"Well, it's too bad. It's already been decided."

"Like _hell_. By who? The ape? Just because the monkey can push a button don't mean he got any kinda authority to sign on someone like that. I do _not_ believe Angie would sign off on that neither. And shit, Reinhardt didn't exactly sit right with _me_ comin' back. And you think you can talk them into allowin' him here? You're out of your god damn mind."

"Well, you're wrong. Because I did, and he's here."

I heard the scuff of leather boot on tile. A beat. "...What?"

"He's _here_ , McCree. He's been here. For a week and a half, while you were running all over North America digging up whatever excuses and recruits you have for yourself."

"Oh, _hell_ no. HELL no."

The boots started up again, and I made sure to put down my tea as they came around the corner. Genji was a good step and a half behind him, chasing after him, and with the height difference, it was clear he had to work to stay with the cowboy's long strides. Leather squeaked again as he came to a halt when he saw me.

He looked very much like he had when I'd last seen him. Tawny hair with vanilla and gold mixed in with mud, his beard a little fuller, but no less scraggly. His hair was tucked back in a ponytail this time, but that ridiculous hat was still there. Broad shoulders covered in plaid -- this time it was a bright yellow shirt -- and those wonderful thighs wrapped in bleached denim. I had forgotten about his boots, which shined with oil and care, the spurs glistening as they sang behind him. Chocolate eyes widened at me, shock and a momentary confusion.

I waited.

That confusion turned to recognition, and the shock to rage, his lip curling into a fowl sneer. I felt my heart drop into my stomach like a stone.

" _NO_ ," he said again, but this time it was a low growl, a very personal rage burning underneath the one word. " _Fuck_ no." And then he was spinning on his heel, spurs singing, and Genji followed him back down the hall again, still shouting and arguing... And I listened to them go.

I took stock. I should have been shaking, I think, but I managed to keep my cup steady as I very tenuously sipped my tea. A little while later, the other medic, a Brazilian fellow, came in with a sympathetic smile.

"Wow. They're not happy. Wonder what that's all about?" he said idly. Making awkward conversation.

"Old business, I think," I suggested, cryptic and vague. My voice was small, even to my own ears.

"Yeah... There's a lot of that." He sighed. "I'm new here. I don't know most of these people." He moved to a coffee pot and poured himself a cup. "Crazy seeing McCree so pissed off, though." He took a sip. "He's usually such a friendly guy."

I offered a small shrug. "I would not know. I am new here as well." Interesting. 

"Ahh... Solidarity." He offered me a toast, and I returned it with a small, polite smile. My eyes tracked him as he left, and I just...

Took a deep breath. This was going to be unpleasant.


	4. Cover

_Allow me to exaggerate a memory or two, where summers lasted longer than we do... If I've forgotten how to sing before I've sung this song, I'll write it all across the wall before my job is done. And I'll even have the courtesy of admitting I was wrong as the final words before I'm dead and gone. You've never been so divine in accepting your defeat, and I've never been more scared to be alone. If love is not enough to put my enemies to sleep, then I'm puttin' out the lantern, find your own way back home. ~ "Folkin' Around" by Panic! at the Disco_

*****

Of all the fucked up, horribly conjured, bound to be ruined, batshit, devil cursed, completely insane ideas I've seen Genji Shimada come up with, I think this one has to be the fucking worst idea ever. Takes the damned cake, and the pie, and the pudding, and a whole bucket of ice cream, too.

The argument went on for days. Despite me telling him in no uncertain terms that I was not alright with this, that I was to have no part of it all, he kept insisting that I was the one being unreasonable, and that of all the people in the world, I ought to be the one person who would be the biggest proponent of second chances.

Second chances were for people that made mistakes. Not for people that beat their baby brother into a bloody pulp on orders. A man had to draw a line somewhere, and I knew where mine was. Fratricide was well on the other side of that line.

Worse than the yelling, though, was that it was _him_. I had known, even back then, that there were good odds that if he was a real Shimada, it could have been Genji's brother, or at least a cousin or something close enough that it should have been a problem. I knew that. But it had been an abstract, like knowing that someone who wears a certain kind of clothes and listens to a certain kind of music and speaks in a certain kind of way would probably fit a very distinctive stereotype, and really, when they live up to the hype, you shouldn't be surprised, but I wanted to give the man the benefit of the doubt.

Reyes was right, as always. Pretty, but dangerous. How much more deadly could you get than a fratricidal ninja? No wonder the man did it for me. He could slice me open without a second glance, and I would thank him for it and ask for seconds.

I was fuming in one of my usual smoking perches, chewing on my cigar more than smoking it, making a drooling mess of myself, but I didn't rightly care. I wasn't going to kiss nobody about now, who cared? I had been avoiding Genji, who took every chance he saw me to start up the argument again, and we'd spent several hours over the last week arguing in circles, and quite frankly, I was scaring off the little ones. Lena always got spooked when I got to hollering, but no one had the nerve to get in between us. The old crowd was glaring at me more than Genji, which just about makes sense. I'm the loud one, so it's always me that gets the eye. Genji had maintained his cover in Blackwatch, while I was known to be Reyes' lapdog, always had been. I might as well have put a damned goat's skull on my hat, it seemed like that's all they saw when they fucking looked at me. Drove me up the damned wall. I was muttering to myself in such a way, a cheap bottle of local-label bourbon on the railing beside me. It wasn't exactly a high perch, but it was out of the way, tucked in a dark corner in a little-used end of the facility (hell, most of it qualified as 'little-used' nowadays) so I hadn't expected anypony to be out and about to see me. I was half a bottle in and I was giving up on my cigar when I saw him.

"HEY. C'mere!"

I don't know what the fuck I was thinking, saying it to him like that. I'm going to blame the fighting and the booze. All the yelling was giving me a damned headache.

Hanzo Shimada -- the man I'd dreamed of and called Ryuu-san for some time -- blinked owlishly at me, having had the misfortune of walking past my perch and catching my drunken attention. He must not have known I was there, or if he didn't, he didn't expect me to address him. Particularly not like that. "Can I help you?" he asked, cautiously. No way he didn't know about my opinions on this whole situation, I wasn't quiet or shy about it.

"Yeah. I said come _here_ ," I called out to him, my tone aggravated and not leaving room for confusion. "I know you speak fucking English, so get over here."

He debated it for a long moment, and I fumed, spitting not for the first time, and setting my cigar down. He approached, looking up at me from the grass to where I stood on a second-floor patio. His eyes saw the bottle, and understanding dawned. "Are you drunk, Makuri-san?" he asked, very politely.

"Among other things," I drawled, and took a swig, pointedly. "What the fuck are you doing here?" It was a lower, more dangerous voice than the one I'd been using publicly, and a lot quieter. This was a voice intended only for him.

He blinked. "I am here at my brother's insistence," he answered. I found a bit of frustration tinged his words. "To be completely fair, I agree with you. I do not belong here."

"Shit, neither do I," I drawled. I moved my hand to the neck of the bottle and dangled it over the edge. "What the hell made you say yes to that kind of arrangement? I ain't the only person here who has the mind you're dangerous. But I'm the only one in a position to say so."

He considered the invitation and took it. He took a good long swig -- three of them, really -- before offering it back up to me. "He gave me a piece of information that colored the situation in a way I hadn't considered before."

I snorted and took it back through the bars of the patio. "Yeah? Like what?"

"Like..." His eyes turned to look back where he'd come. "Like that it had been him who'd turned. He was the one selling the Shimada Clan out to Overwatch."

I watched him, carefully. There was a porcelain mask there. I wondered if he realized how easy it was to slip on, to stop having a face of your own, and just wear the mask all the time. I had so many of them, I don't know if anyone realized that it wasn't my face. I was a chameleon like that. "You didn't know?"

"I did not," he admitted. He looked back up at me, face expressionless. "But it makes sense. Perhaps someone else knew. Or at least suspected. But they knew the only person in the world capable of taking him out would have been me. Dragons are hard to slay."

I let out a low chuckle, a throaty thing. "Hell, ain't that the truth." I took a sip myself, and I licked my lips, imagining I could taste him there. "That does make a certain kind of sense." I looked down at him, and he was watching me, a furrow to his brow, and a little bit of a frown to his lips as he did so. It was subtle, but it was there.

His mask was slipping as he looked up, considering me.

I sighed, setting the bottle aside. "Look. You and me gotta discuss what happened. Get our stories straight."

"I do not know what you mean," he answered, mildly. "We did not meet before now. You hate my guts, and rightfully so. I will respectfully avoid you because you are a big, scary, loud-mouthed brigand who absolutely no one trusts. It is hardly conspicuous."

I blinked, telling myself he wasn't wrong, and that it wasn't exactly an insult. I chewed my bottom lip. "Huh. So you haven't told him?"

"Told him what?" There's almost a sad smile tugging at his lips.

I tilt my head to one side, just drunk enough that I decided to approach him instead of turning around to avoid him for the eighth time when we crossed paths. I tried to piece him together with what I knew about 'Genji's brother' from our years working together. "...He don't know, does he?"

The words are even quieter. His eyes dart back where he came, and I see a little bit of fidgeting inside his yukata. He looks back down at his feet. I can just barely hear, "He has no idea."

...That explains a lot. A heavy sigh. I grab the bottle and toss it carefully over the railing. A hand shoots out to catch it, a half step back so he doesn't splash himself with it. "I think you need that a lot more than I do." I reach for my hat and put it on my head, looking down to see a more honest smile on his lips. I don't say another word as I turn away, spurs singing behind me, but I can hear the rattle of the drink as he indulges himself below.

xxx

I make a point of wearing a scowl as I step into the room, where there's an audience. Winston looks up at me, eyes big like a puppy dog, ready for me to start yelling again. I already see Lena finishing her task so she can evacuate as quickly as possible. Genji looks up at me from his sudoku, and even without the eyeballs, I can tell he's giving me that Look by the way he tilts his head to one side.

After three days of not talking to him, the script calls for an apology.

"Alright. We give him a chance."

"I appreciate your approval," he answers, just as dry as could be expected. "At last, everyone who matters is on board."

"Don't." I threaten him with a finger, but he doesn't respond. I glance at Winston, my scowl still there and I turn on my heel.

"Jesse..." My name sounds like a serpentine hiss with his mechanics, but I stop. "The apology is not only to me. I need you to give one to my brother as well. For your boorishness."

I look at him over my shoulder, the scowl still there. "Fine. I will."

His posture straightens in surprise, and I tuck my hat low as if to hide more fury. I can hear a whispered curse of relief from Oxton as I step out of the room, and let out a deep breath to myself.

Two weeks. Took me two weeks to establish this cover. In a way, it's easier that Genji doesn't know, although it also means I'm running a covert op of sorts right under his nose, but if he hasn't figured it out yet... Well. I mean, he knows me well enough by now. He should be able to figure it out. And if he doesn't, maybe I'll find it amusing the longer it goes on. Cognitive dissonance can be entertaining as hell when weaponized.

I cooked dinner that night as a sign of good faith. I made a huge pot of from-scratch chicken tortilla soup (and by from-scratch, I mean from-cans, but whatever, it's soup) complete with tortilla chips and shredded cheese on top, and if there were some upturned noses, Angela especially was at least conflicted about it as I offered her a hot bowlful of apology. This was Jesse McCree's currency, after all. He bought people's affections with comfort food. When Hanzo came in, I even stiffened a little bit, but I make sure I scooped him up a bowl anyhow and gave it a generous topping of cheese. I served it on a plate with chips and slid it before him.

He sniffed at it, curious. "What is this?" he asked, polite but also perhaps genuinely curious.

"Chicken tortilla soup. Home recipe." It was also something I could buy at the grocery store with less than three hours to make it look authentic. And quite frankly, the spice cabinet here wasn't quite up to snuff for anything too daring yet. "It's good. Eat it."

He pulled it closer, and I stood there, feeling eyes on me. On us. Genji, in particular, I saw watching from a corner, his omnic monk master idly enjoying the show as well. Made my skin crawl, and I cracked the knuckles on my good hand as I watched him take a taste of my peace offering. His eyes actually widened a little, and he glanced up at me in surprise, and then down at the bowl again before taking a hearty spoonful and tasting again. "It is very good," he agreed. "Thank you." He even bowed, and I bowed back, but it was little more than a bowed head, while his was full-on, at the waist. I gave a little grunt like the Neanderthal I was and returned to my pot to make another bowl for the next customer, and he took his bowl back to the table with Genji and Zenyatta. I watched him out of the corner of my eye and saw Genji give me a thumbs up. I rolled my eyes a little, serving myself and then slipping out of the kitchen entirely to eat my meal in peace.

I had long since finished it, gone through my weekly routine, and was lighting up a smoke when there was the faintest knock on my door. I froze, not quite sure who the _hell_ would have known where I was down here in Blackwatch country and got up to check the door.

The hall was empty. There wasn't the tell-tale ozone smell that was Genji, but rather a whiff of jasmine incense and oil that belonged to someone else. And yet, in front of my door was a bottle. The same brand of whiskey I'd given to Hanzo earlier, but it was new and there was an obnoxious yellow ribbon wrapped around the neck of it. No note or letter, but... I didn't need it. I smiled sadly to myself as I took it and closed the door, knowing damned well where it came from.

I debated if I was pleased that he knew where I was sleeping, or unnerved by it. But quite frankly, with my masochistic, danger-loving libido, it might have been both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HO BOY. There is a lot of 'don't listen to what I say, watch what I do' going on in this chapter. But y'all should know me by now that I LIVE FOR THAT SHIT.


	5. Subtext

The cowboy was... Very interesting. I had done some research before working with him, and knew from personal experience that there was a lot more going on in that beautiful mind of his than the average person could see, but watching him work was breathtaking.

I very gently prodded my brother for information, trying to sound polite and eager to appease the boor, but honestly trying to get a handle on the man. From what he said (and more importantly, what he didn't say) was that, yes, he had been party to that whole illicit affair with the wetwork and assassinations and blackmailing (A man after my own heart, I caught myself thinking. For shame.) and had vanished during an investigation into said affair. Considering he'd been MIA at the time the sentences were being handed out, and that his supervising officer had gone out in a suicide bombing (along with a goodly number of civilians, operatives, and the head of the Overwatch program itself, one Jack Morrison), no one actually had enough of a case (nor incentive) to hunt him down. Although it had earned him a rather hefty bounty (one I had considered quite seriously before meeting him in person), but given what I knew of him, I found myself wondering how much of it was true.

Some of it had to be true, I knew that much. He moved and shot with the kind of deadly grace that came from years of experience, and the very good training to do so efficiently. I was even eventually shown the training facilities -- Genji had apparently not been joking about needing McCree's approval to give me full clearance as an official operative -- and found a rather impressive record bearing his name in the shooting galleries. With a little bit of poking, I found he had scores that certainly went back to when Overwatch was operating originally, and he had put in _many_ many many hours of shooting time in. I had the passing thought that my sensei would have been so impressed with it, he would have started to guilt trip me that I had to catch up with him. I started to practice, admittedly a bit rusty from doing official training like this, and found that his score was not something easy to reach. Even at my skill level, I would have to put in some training myself to get to that score myself.

Challenge accepted. Never second best.

I was pursuing this quest when I was joined in the shooting range by a girl. A child, barely legally an adult, easily half my age or so. I remember blinking at her, confused as to where she'd come from. The fact that she was Asian quite frankly had me hesitating that perhaps I was hallucinating at last. Until she sidled up in the station three down from me and gave me a smile and a thumbs up. "Cold range?" she offered, probably gauging if I spoke English.

I nodded, slowly.

"Awesome. Give me a sec to load, okay?"

I did so, still awkwardly holding an arrow notched in my bow, but when she was ready, we both rose our weapons to fire.

Her score was _impressive_. Not quite as high as mine (and certainly not as high as McCree's), but she was clearly a professionally trained marksman. Judging by her stance, military training. I caught sight of a keychain charm in Korean, and filed that away for later. She introduced herself afterwards as Hana, and when we both packed up our kits to go, she darted off to the locker room and I continued back to my room.

Turns out, she was Hana Song, an apparently exemplary MEKA pilot and war hero of sorts in Korea. I admit, I had not been paying that much attention to the news (particularly not Korean news), but it was good to know we had someone with some proper training being recruited (but she was only 19...) and I looked forward to training more with her. She was even at dinner that night. McCree had been helping the Doctor serve a "gulashu" of some kind, so I purposefully sat where I could watch him work from my seat, and my brother did not seem to notice. When I waved her down to join us -- "a tiny Southeast Asia", I had joked, but it did not get any laughs -- she ended up chatting with my brother about engineering and MEKAs for most of the dinner.

Which left me able to watch my cowboy without Genji's notice. He ate alone, at the bar, his metal hand resting on his hip as he ate with the other, starting well after everyone else had. He'd even shooed the Doctor out with her own plate once every one else had been served, and busied himself in the kitchen, packing up leftovers and starting the dishes before serving himself a plate and a tall glass of something the color of whiskey, served over ice. I almost wondered if he was drinking again, but for some reason that didn't seem right.

He looked... Tired. No one else seemed to be paying him any mind, absorbed in their own conversations. It made me want to go over there and sit next to him, even if only to sip tea beside him in silence. I wanted to tell him how grateful I was that he was going to be discreet instead of ruining my life, that he was respecting my choice to keep that part of my life to myself. I wanted to thank him for the bourbon, and the soup, and I wanted to ask him why he patrolled the grounds like some paranoid wolf walking the perimeter of his territory in the middle of the night when he should be sleeping. I wanted to know why he was choosing to stay in his old room with the aged and worn MCCREE slot in the door, buried in the bowels of anabandoned wing of the complex.

Why are you not in the warmth with us?, I wanted to ask. Do those ghosts give you comfort? Or do you wander because your sins do not let you sleep, and there is no one there to hold you when your demons disturb your rest?

Finally, I could not help myself. I offered to collect the dishes, and Hana protested, insisting she was the young one and should be doing it. She even rose to take the task from me, but I politely assured her that I did not want to interrupt her conversation with my brother. Genji doubtless interpreted it as me attempting penance, but I'm not sure his Master bought it. There was just something about the omnic, something I could not puzzle out. I wasn't sure if it was just the alien form and lack of expression that had me so off-put, but it almost felt like his artificial eyes could somehow see through me, that he could read my mind. I wondered if his eyes were following me as I went to the kitchen to deposit the table's dishes into the sink.

I wondered if he could piece together what my brother did not.

McCree glanced up at me when I stepped into his periphery, and I felt his eyes tracking me like the hunter he was. I honestly liked the attention. It was something primal, predatory, and yet a completely different flavor of response to my presence than the rest of the "old guard" here. He still put up the pretense when there was a crowd to perform for, but it felt a little too loud, a little too scripted to be genuine. But I don't think anyone bothered to question it. He seemed to have a reputation of saying bold, loud things and living up to the stereotype of a typical, ignorant, rude American.

He had not been rude to me. If anything, he had been more than kind, more than forgiving. He had put up a show and a fuss, yes, but that afternoon on the perch, when it was just him and me, had been something entirely different. It had been something like that wonderful night (and morning) all those years ago.

It hadn't been that long ago, I had to remind myself. But it felt like a lifetime.

"Is there... Some kind of rotation on who cooks dinner?" I asked, trying to make polite conversation. I did that thing he did, where I said it a little louder than was absolutely necessary, for the benefit of anyone who might be watching.

I looked over at him, and there was a tease of a frown to his lips, even as he chewed his dinner. He seemed almost tense, hunched over a little, like he was ready to pounce. I really hoped he would. I wanted him to leap himself over this counter and take me without my consent, knowing fully that I would tell him when to stop when need be. If need be.

There was no need, however. I would welcome it. I think he knew that. I hoped he knew that.

He seemed to pick up on that, somehow. I watched an eyebrow quirk up, his eyes going a little dark, his posture changing ever so slight, a lean more than ready to pounce. He pulled his eyes away to look down at his plate, choosing a morsel. "In a manner of speaking," he answered, his voice actually low and quiet. He wasn't performing. He was genuinely answering my polite inquiry. "Don't see that you gotta trouble yourself none, though. I know you probably don't have the first clue what any of these people would eat." He slid the bite into his mouth, and leaned back, reclining in the chair. It was a display, I think. He went from on edge to showing his belly, to let me know that he was not going to cause trouble. "Some of them are a might particular. I'd leave it to us older crew for now." And then an almost imperctible shrug. "Unless you wanna get a five page article of recommendations from our resident physician."

There was a tease of an eyebrow there, and I caught myself snort, a shy smile on my lips. "That bad, huh?"

He nodded, a what-can-you-do? to it. "About a third of these bastards are vegetarian. Makes me crazy."

I chuckled, a soft, quiet thing that I don't think anyone could hear but him and turned to continue my task of rinsing out the dishes.. Aiya, but he made it so easy to be charmed by him. I wanted to curl up in his arms and listen to that voice talking about nothing and everything. "I will keep that in mind."

When I looked back at him, his eyes were fixed on me. Dark, hungry eyes that I recognized. Eyes that had haunted my dreams, and some of my days as well. It made me shiver. I'm not sure if I blushed, but I certainly stopped washing dishes, my hands still holding a plate under the water, but not actually doing anything with it. I felt like a deer seeing a predator, frozen and caught by surprise. He took another bite, and took a long time with it, a languid, purposefully captivating action that made me focus on his mouth, remembering how it had grabbed at me, teeth and claws and dark words that had made my most twisted fantasies a reality--

"Hey there! Hanzo, right?"

I felt my head whip around as the Brazilian medic stepped into the kitchen, his own hands full of plates. "Are you on dishes duty?"

I found myself without words for a moment, but my disinterested expression was a reflex. And I turned my eye to my task, returning to it. "Not precisely. I was tending to our table's plates. But I can do yours as well, if you would leave them to one side." On any other occassion, I might have been affronted at the suggestion, but that's a prideful reaction from another time. Another life.

"Great! Thanks, man. Appreciate you!" His smile was so big, broad and genuine and warm. No wonder he was so famous -- his natural charm must make many a girl swoon. He waved to McCree as well. "Hey, Jesse! That was really good. Was that you or Dr. Ziegler?"

I watched him out of the corner of my eye, and he had that easy smile that I recognized from our time working together. "That's all Doc's doing. I was just slicing and dicing. Gotta make myself useful, you know how it is."

"Yeah, I know." Lucio leaned over to him, and they shared a fist bump. "You let me know when it's my turn to cook, yeah?"

"Of course," he answered, nodding to him. I watched him, watching Lucio go, and then his eyes were back on me, that heat and darkness returned.

I returned my eyes to the sink and made myself clean, embarrassed that I had been so lost in his eyes that I had forgotten myself.

When I went to glance at him again, his seat was suddenly empty. Startled, my eyes swept the room and did not see him, and then all at once he was behind me, leaning over my left shoulder to add his plate to Lucio's pile. I felt myself go stiff as I felt a broad, warm hand slide over the small of my back, and my hands ceased again.

"Mite jumpy there," he purred to me, a dangerous satisfaction there. I watched him glance back to the room at large -- to keep an eye on my brother, more like -- and then he slid beside me proper, his elbow bumping mine. "Anything I can do to help you with that?"

I found myself biting down on my lip, finally abandoning this plate to move on to the next -- grabbing his from the stack and giving it my full attention. "Are you offering?"

"Ain't that what it sounds like?" he answered back. He leaned onto the counter, looking absolutely delicious, like trouble. And he knew he was trouble, and he knew I was hooked, and by this point, I'm _sure_ I was blushing.

"Your place or mine?" I answered back, trying to make it sound like a joke, although it was not.

"Well, since you know where mine is..." Another check in Genji's direction, and it lingered. "Not a lot of eyes there. Should you want something else to occupy your time."

I set his dish to dry, and reached for the next, this space between us so very curiously comfortable.The most comfortable I'd been since I arrived. There was almost a touch of anxiousness to him, the way his fingers fidgeted as he made sure his eyes didn't stay on one spot. We had an audience. I wondered if maybe he wanted the company as much as I did.

"I can certainly think of worse things to do with my time." What was this game of his? I realized a bit late that he could have meant helping me with the dishes, and yet that was not how I took it. Nor apparently how he had meant it.

His lips quirked to one side. "I can do worse." His eyes looked to me, and I wanted to dive into them. "If that's what you want."

 _Tell me what you want, and I'll make it worth your while_.

I cursed under my breath, dropping the plate to dry with a little more force than was strictly necessary. His chuckle was at such a low register I could feel it vibrating in my balls. "You are a siren," I hissed.

"I been told," he sing-songed. And just as smooth, he rose, sauntering away at his usual leisurely sway, his spurs singing behind him.

So he _can_ move quietly. Even in the spurs. And fast as well. Truly, I wondered exactly what he was capable of. With even the veterans of Overwatch underestimating this "wild card", I couldn't help but be entranced by this mystery of a man.

And I realized I hadn't gotten a time from him. But I turned to ask, but he was gone.

There was a long moment there, standing, a hand outstretched to nothing and no one. I brought it back to me, and turned back to the sink. I made quick work of the rest of it, and turned off the water, trying to gather myself before I went back to my brother. And by gather, I meant readjusting my garments a smidge and waiting for the heat in my cheeks to die down before I returned to the table to not listen to what was being said, my mind distracted by the sway of those hips and the song of his spurs.


End file.
